From the Buy More of the Bloodcurdling Stockroom - Spooks vs Spooks
by atlee
Summary: Yes, another bone-chilling tale to take root in your darkest nightmares (or not). Chuck and Sarah take a trip to an old mansion owned by Chuck's mysterious long-lost uncle. Please note that I added two chapters tonight, so go to Chapter 4 first.
1. Chapter 1

**From the Stockroom of The Buy More of the Bloodcurdling**

_It's that time of year. Time to face your greatest fears, the thoughts that keep you up at night in a cold sweat. And what better way to face those fears than by...reading fanfiction._

_A slight change from the last two years...instead of an anthology of 3 stories (an idea I may or may not have picked up from a popular long-running tv program), I've gone for a single longer one. I hope you enjoy it. And are of course are so frightened that you will never get a moment's sleep again. But mostly the enjoying it thing._

_I haven't been around for a while, but as far as I can tell, I still don't own 'Chuck.'_

"**Spooks vs. Spooks"**

**Chapter 1.**

"No offense to your white picket fence, Sarah, but this was always _my_ idea of a dream house."

Chuck shifted his gaze from the road to the rearview mirror, and saw his best friend gesturing towards the backseat window. "I thought you gave up on that years ago, Morgan."

"You kidding? A huge old mansion, remotely tucked away on the seashore? All it needs is a butler named Lerch."

"I don't know," Sarah said, her eyes on the silhouette of the house in the cloudy distance. "I think even Vincent Price would take one look at it and call it depressing." She turned to her husband. "You long did your uncle live here?"

"As long as I can remember."

"Then you've been here before?"

"No. Uncle Horace never invited us, and I imagine if he did, my parents never would have accepted." Chuck looked over and saw the concern in his wife's eyes. He had only told her that he had an estranged uncle, and hadn't filled in too many of the details of his complicated family history. Given the various episodes of Bartowski drama she had been a part of, it was probably a bit silly to spare her any further family quirkiness. But while abandonment and run-of-the-mill daddy issues were one thing, at least they weren't…weird. Horace Bartowski on the other hand…

"Hey, I think that's the entrance coming up!" Morgan announced. "We're here!"

"You know this is a solemn occasion, Morgan," Sarah commented archly. "Maybe you could be a little less enthusiastic."

"I'm sorry, Sarah. But think what this could mean for us. For Carmichael Industries."

Chuck probably would have missed the turn if Morgan hadn't pointed it out. The sky, clear for most of the trip, had taken a decidedly overcast turn as they'd neared his uncle's house. About a half-hour ago the clouds had ceased holding back, turning the last few miles into a slick, rainy mess. The encroaching evening darkness had made things even worse.

As Chuck veered the car through a set of foreboding iron gates and into a curvy driveway, the house began to come into view. He immediately decided that Morgan was welcome to it. It almost seemed like the house had been randomly growing limbs. Two wings of the house jutted out from the center, as if trying to pull the building apart. A central tower extended into the sky, its grey walls nearly indistinguishable from the cloudy night sky. The grounds didn't appear much better. The rocky hillside they'd been driving through for the last few minutes clearly offered little to no nourishment for plant life, so the path was lined with a few gnarled trees and no flowers. A few tufts of grass managed to appear through the rocks and dirt piles that covered most of the ground.

"Yuk," Sarah commented as Chuck slowed the car.

"Cool!" Morgan countered. "Could use some gargoyles, though."

Chuck exited the car and rushed over to the passenger side. Sarah smiled at him and ducked underneath the umbrella he held out for her. They hurried towards the house, briefly glancing at the other cars surrounding the driveway. "A rental car," Sarah pointed out. "Maybe that's Ellie and Awesome."

Chuck sighed in relief when they reached the sheltered porch. He closed the umbrella, and looked around. Up close, the house didn't look any better. Several of the wooden planks at their feet were rotting, and the shutters surrounding the windows hadn't seen any paint in years. The windows themselves were blocked by uninviting iron bars. Clearly, Uncle Horace didn't like visitors.

Finally, he found the front door. Unable to find a doorbell, Chuck was forced to resort to using the large brass knocker, fashioned into the shape of a lion's head. The sound of the knocker smacking against the door echoed throughout the hillside.

"Well that'll wake up the dead," Morgan remarked.

Given the foreboding atmosphere of the place, Chuck half-expected to see Bela Lugosi answer the door. That clearly wasn't the case, unless there was a movie out there where Lugosi played a middle-aged math teacher. The man, short and balding but dressed in a sharp suit, eyed the arrivals curiously. "Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski?" he finally asked.

"Uh, yes," Chuck answered, wincing as he heard his voice crack. "I'm him…er, Chuck, um. Mr. Bartowski." He shook the man's hand. "This is my wife, Sarah."

The stranger took the new arrivals' coats and umbrellas and placed them in a small coatroom at the side of the entrance hall. He then smiled briefly at Sarah, and looked questioningly at Morgan. "Morgan Grimes. I'm here for moral support. And morbid fascination. Not necessarily in that order."

"Well please come in. Most everyone else is already here."

* * *

The first thing Chuck noted as he followed the man into the house was the candles. They were everywhere: sconces along the hallway wall, candlesticks on a side table, and a huge chandelier in the parlor that the short hallway opened into.

His uncle must like to create an atmosphere, or couldn't afford the electricity bill.

The room itself was also huge, with a giant stairwell covered in red velvet at the far end, and doors extending in every direction. Various portraits lined the walls between the various sconces, each one picturing somebody Chuck assumed was an ancestor of his. It wouldn't be his choice of room décor, he thought to himself. He'd often felt that Bartowskis weren't the most photogenic of people; clearly they weren't the most painting-genic either.

The man – who happened to be carrying yet another candle - turned towards the right and led them through one of the many doors into a wide sitting room. Compared to what Chuck had seen so far, this room didn't seem so bad. A giant brick fireplace dominated the far wall, the crackling fire inside it fending off the damp chill that seemed to permeate the outside. Over the mantle, and along the side walls, hung several paintings. Chuck was no art expert, but he could tell that the artist had been talented, though possibly slightly demented. One picture was definitely a seascape, though the see was apparently in the process of flooding a small town. Another one seemed to be depicting an earthquake, while a third, as far as Chuck could tell, was a skillfully rendered depiction of a meteor hitting a church. The chairs filling the room all seemed at least somewhat comfortable, or would if they weren't already filled with people. Though two of those people immediately vacated their chairs when Chuck and the others entered the room.

"Chuck! You made it!"

Chuck embraced his sister, and shook the hand of his smiling brother-in-law. He found a seat while Sarah received her sisterly hug, and Morgan got his surprised nod. He took a moment to study the other occupants.

Seated on the couch was a woman dressed all in black. Through the veil, Chuck could see that her eyes were puffy. Apparently, someone had shown some emotion for his uncle. Standing beside her was an older man, dressed in a tailored gray suit, topped by a red bow tie. A pair of gold-framed spectacles hung upon his nose.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski, this is Penelope Rothman, Mr. Horace Bartowski's personal secretary." Chuck greeted each of them in turn, then looked back at the third man. "My name is William Ryerson, Horace's attorney. I sent you the letter last week."

"Of course. Thank you, Mr. Ryerson."

"We are still waiting on one more person, so the reading of the will won't start for a bit. However, we should be able to start with dinner shortly. I've retained Horace's staff for the evening. Hopefully, we will have enough food for everyone," Ryerson said, glancing over at Morgan. "Though in this house, it's always hard to plan. Somebody may be gone by then."

"You're expecting somebody to leave?" Chuck asked.

"Uh, sure," Ryerson responded. A moment later, he left the room.

Ellie walked over to Chuck and Sarah. "C'mon, I'll show you to your room." Chuck and his wife agreed, and were followed soon after by Morgan.

* * *

Ellie led them back out into the main parlor, pointing out the other doors surrounding the room. She skipped one of the doors, telling them that it led to the dining room and kitchen and was currently overrun by the cook and maid that had been retained for the night. "They don't come with the house," she explained. "And they didn't work for Uncle Horace. Ryerson brought them in for this little event."

The next door led to a lounge with an oak bar dominating one end of the room. More portraits covered the wall, this time seeming more welcoming because they partially blocked the rather drastic red wallpaper. "Red rum, red rum," Morgan commented, earning dirty looks from both women.

The next room seemed to function as some sort of sitting room, though Chuck wasn't sure why anyone would want to sit there. Although he found the large suit of armor standing in the corner to be cool, he couldn't imagine relaxing while its sword-wielding shadow hovered over them. A few old firearms hung on the walls, which after a moment of studying Sarah declared to be beautiful, but completely useless.

"Weird, isn't it?" Ellie asked, as they surveyed the room.

"No kidding."

"No, I mean never having been to this place until now."

"So you weren't really close with your Uncle either?" Sarah asked. "From what Chuck has told me, he has never even met him."

"He did once," Ellie smiled, "though he was too young to remember it. He came to stay with us once. It didn't go well."

"Uncle Horace and Dad did not see eye to eye," Ellie explained. "Dad was all about science, but Horace was into…other things."

"He was religious?"

"Not exactly, at least from what I could tell. There was a lot of yelling and fighting, and well, I was only seven, so I didn't really understand what everything was about, but Dad definitely did not share Uncle Horace's interests, whatever they were. Neither did Mom."

That explained her indifferent reaction when she'd been told about her brother-in-law's passing, Chuck thought to himself, as he followed his sister back into the main hall. And why she hadn't been invited for this weekend.

"So what do you think is going to happen?" Sarah asked. "If neither you nor Chuck knew your uncle, he must be leaving most of his estate to the others, right?"

Ellie shrugged. "That secretary seemed like she was closer to Uncle Horace than your usual employee would be. But I don't mind. Devon and I are happy in Chicago. If we get this house, you're welcome to it."

Chuck gave his wife a quick look. "I think we'll pass too. I can't even find an outlet around here to recharge my phone."

"Me neither," Ellie admitted. "And I'd like to check in with the neighbors to see if Clara is ok."

The remaining first-floor doorways led to a large bathroom and what Ellie guessed was a stairway to the basement. Chuck decided that that part of the tour could wait for later.

The second floor was filled mostly with bedrooms. Each room, including the one allotted for Chuck and Sarah, was filled with a four-poster bed, along with an old-fashioned dresser and armoire. As Chuck was gratefully stowing away his suitcase, Ellie asked, "So, how's the…you know?" she asked, pointing to Chuck's head.

"No issues," Chuck replied. "I hardly get any flashes any more." Of course, he rarely needed them, and thankfully they rarely kicked in when he didn't. There had been that one incident at the Department of Motor Vehicles, of course, but in the end the jujitsu _had_ gotten his license renewed more quickly. "No side effects, either," he continued. "It's just kind of…there."

"Good. Keep me posted if anything changes."

"Still big sister-ing me, even from all the way in Chicago, huh?"

"You won't get rid of me that easy."

The final room upstairs was an old study, with a bookcase filled with dusty books and manuscripts. Chuck decided it was his favorite room that he'd seen, and regretted leaving it when Ryerson came upstairs to inform them that dinner was ready.

"Oh thank God," Morgan commented, as they headed back down the stairwell. "I could eat anything right now."

* * *

"I can't eat this."

Chuck studied the strangely can-shaped substance on his plate, and had to agree with Morgan. "Ummm…what is this?"

"Horace was a firm believer that electricity is mankind's biggest mistake," Penelope explained between bites, "and never had any hooked up to the house." That explained all of the candles, and the lack of outlets, Chuck thought to himself. "So he tended to rely on non-perishable food items. You can do some wonderful things with Spam. And he knew that you don't need a fancy vegetable garden for a balanced meal." She pointed at the sickly green mush on Morgan's plate. "One can find everything you need growing right outside."

Chuck remembered the few tufts of moss and clover scattered around the rocks outside, and immediately put his fork down. He'd regretted the one bite of the "vegetables" he'd taken, and he was now sure that he'd swallowed at least one pebble along with it.

"I'm normally a big fan of the greens," Devon commented, "but I've got to say that nothing beats a good deep dish pizza. What's the name of that place down on Randolph, Babe?"

"Oh gosh," Ellie thought about it. "It _is_ pretty great. The name will come to me in a second."

Chuck had heard his sister and brother-in-law's odes to all things Chicago more often than he could count, and he suspected the other guests had already heard more than their fair share. He decided to see if he could learn more about Horace, and turned to Penelope. "You and my uncle were close?"

"Oh, your uncle was a beautiful person. I will miss him every day."

"Then you two were…" Chuck struggled for an appropriately dignified and sensitive term.

"Lovers?" Penelope spoke up. "Oh no, nothing like that. But I loved working with him."

"Then you shared his…interests?"

Penelope gave Ryerson a quick look. "Oh, Horace had a lot of interests. Reading, uh, he was real art collector, um…hunting." Chuck glanced up at the stuffed boar's head overlooking the dining room table and had to fight off the need to shudder. "You know…lots of things."

Clearly, Penelope was being evasive. He decided to move on, and looked over at Doctor Stanislov who was busily shoving a forkful of spam into his mouth. "And you were his doctor for a long time?"

"Years. But he was healthy as a horse until the cancer. Always believed in exercise and a proper diet. Why spam is known to reduce the risk of several forms of…" the doctor waved his head back and forth as if trying to summon the right word, "uh, Decamphilitis."

"Is that actually a thing?" Chuck whispered to his sister, seated to his right.

She emphatically shook her head. "Not even remotely."

"But you should know," Dr. Stanislov added, apparently not noticing the exchange, "that Horace died comfortably and quietly. Well, other than the convulsions and the night sweats."

Chuck decided he'd heard enough from the good doctor, whose medical specialty clearly seemed to be quackincology. "So, uh, Mr. Ryerson. Lawyering…that seems like an interesting profession."

"Oh, sure. Estate planning always has its share of excitement, especially in a case like this."

"Then Horace was rich?" Morgan asked indelicately.

"Oh, the estate is worth several million," the lawyer replied. If Chuck had dared to put any of the food in his mouth, he would have choked on it. "Though much of the value is from the land this house rests on, as well as the contents."

"The artwork and furniture, you mean?" Ellie asked, looking around dubiously.

"Well, yes, there are quite a lot of things here that are of quite a bit of interest to certain parties. I'm sure you will hear from them if you make it through the night."

"Make it through?" Sarah asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Uh, right. Make it through, with an inheritance."

The sound of the doorbell saved Chuck from asking for any further details. "Ah, our final guest," Ryerson said. He stepped away from the table and headed out towards the hall.

"So who do you think the last guest is?" Devon asked. "Did Horace have any children?"

"Oh no," Penelope responded. "I imagine it must be Horace's old friend," Penelope spoke up. "I haven't seen him in years."

"He probably had to wait until he could leave his coffin," Morgan remarked. "He's probably going to come in here with a hunchback, or a set of horns, or…" He realized everyone had become very quiet, and was looking over his shoulder. "What?"

"Even with a hunchback," a voice growled from behind Morgan, "I'd still tower over you, Moron."

"Oh, er, hey there, Casey. Um, what are you doing here?"

* * *

_I hope to have the full story up by Halloween, so look for the next chapter in a couple of days. As always, please review to let me know your thoughts so far!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"May I present Mr. John Casey to everyone," Ryerson said somewhat needlessly, as everyone in the room seemed to recognize him for one reason or another. Casey surveyed the room calmly, before turning his gaze to Chuck and Ellie.

"So, you're Horace's niece and nephew. It's funny. Never put the name together."

"Really, Casey?" Chuck asked, somewhat annoyed by this completely unforeseen development. "Cause there are so many Bartowski's out there?"

Casey shrugged, then turned to greet Penelope. Seeing Ryerson motion to an empty seat at the table, he shook his head. "Thanks. Ate on the way."

"Casey," Chuck said, still confused and somewhat perturbed. "How on earth did you know my uncle?"

"We worked together," Casey responded, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. "Back in the day."

"Wait, our Uncle worked for the…" Ellie's voice trailed off, her eyes briefly darting to Ryerson and the other strangers. "He worked for the Government?"

"More of a contractor, really. His unique area of expertise came in handy occasionally."

"And uh…what expertise was that?"

Casey looked at Chuck as if he was an idiot. Chuck hadn't seen that look directed at him much since the first few missions they'd had together. He almost missed it at times. "Why, ghosts of course."

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't know?" Penelope asked. "Your Uncle was a well-renowned expert on ghosts."

"You mean, like a parapsychologist?"

"Oh no," Dr. Stanislov interjected. "Hardly that. Horace believed that the existence of ghosts invalidated the entire idea of science."

"Funny," Ellie muttered. "I thought it was the other way around."

"Seriously, he's making this up, right?" Chuck asked Sarah.

"Don't bother asking your better half," Casey remarked. "She doesn't have the clearance level to know."

"Sorry, Casey. There's nothing you could say that would make be believe any of this."

"Really," Casey replied drily, removing the cigar from his mouth. "How about this. Collinston."

As soon as Casey finished pronouncing the word, Chuck's eyes turned gradually wider as the flash washed over him. With each successive image, he shrank back further. At the end, he squeaked, "Ok, I believe you."

* * *

"Now, since everyone's about finished with dinner," Ryerson interrupted. "I think we should adjourn back to the sitting room and get started."

Chuck stood up slowly, but quickly moved to grab his glass of wine. Sarah gave him a concerned look as they followed the crowd out of the dining room.

"I'm ok. Just a bit of a headache from the cartwheels my entire worldview is doing in my brain right now."

"Next time don't be so quick to judge," Casey commented from behind him. "Are ghosts really that much harder to believe than geeky spies with computers in their brains, or inexplicably occurring bouts of amnesia?"

Chuck chose not to respond to that, and instead dropped down a couch between Sarah and Morgan. Everyone else also found a seat, other than Casey who remained standing and the lawyer who had vanished again. A moment later he reappeared, carrying a large sealed envelope and a small wooden box.

Ryerson placed the box down on a side table, and removed a small knife from his pocket. He opened the envelope with the knife, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"I, Horace Hooper Bartowski, being of sound mind and body, hereby bequeath my entire estate as follows. I leave my entire fortune to be divided equally among my living descendents – my niece and nephew Eleanor and Charles Bartowski, my dear secretary Penelope Rothman, my Doctor and confidante Martin Stanislov, and my longtime friend John Casey. However, in order to inherit their share, each person must spend the night here at my house."

"Well, that seems easy enough," Morgan commented.

"And, must still be alive at 7 AM the next morning."

"Ok, that last part's a little weird."

"Are we really sure about that 'sound mind' part?" Devon asked.

"Oh, Horace was as sane as I am," Dr. Stanislov rumbled.

"Not really much of a reassurance," Chuck whispered to Sarah.

"Any questions?" Ryerson asked.

"You mean that's it?" Ellie asked. "Spend the night, and split the fortune. He didn't tell us anything else?"

"That's the entire will."

"Wait, what about the box?" Morgan stood up and approached the small box that Ryerson had carried in with the will.

The lawyer shrugged. "I don't know. Horace had instructed me to bring it in when the time came to read the will."

"Well, it's an interesting looking box. Maybe there is more information inside." He fumbled with the box, trying to open it. "It's locked." He turned it around a few times, looking for an opening.

"Don't shake it, Moron."

"Hey, there has to be a lock somewhere. Oops." Morgan bent down to pick up the pieces of the broken box. "Huh, guess there was nothing in it. Chuck, your Uncle really was nuts."

Judging by the weird chill that he had just felt enter the room, Chuck wasn't so sure.

* * *

"I trust you'll find your bedrooms to be comfortable." Chuck was standing in the foyer, watching everyone look at each other uncertainly. The cook and other servants had just left, leaving only Ryerson left with the potential beneficiaries. He briefly wondered if the lawyer was going to stay to referee things.

"I'll be back in the morning," Ryerson answered Chuck's silent question. "I'll be here a little after 7 to check attendance and pulses. In the meantime, I must warn you that every door and window in the house will be bolted from the outside. Also, the drawbridge linking this island to the mainland will be raised, per Horace's instructions."

Chuck looked over the lawyer's shoulder up to the grandfather clock standing in the corner. He didn't need to see its hands to know exactly what time it was. The clock's menacing chimes had sounded eight times a few minutes ago. If the worst he had to look forward to during the next eleven hours was to be repeatedly woken up by those chimes, he would consider himself lucky.

The lawyer turned to Morgan. "Um, since you're not actually a beneficiary, there's no need for you to stay. Besides, we don't have a room for you here."

Morgan clapped Chuck on the back. "Chuck is my best friend, and I always have his back." Chuck felt a brief swell of admiration for his stalwart friend.

"And besides, I'm sure he and Sarah won't mind if I bunk with them."

* * *

"So now what?"

Everyone was back in the sitting room. Chuck thought he felt the strange chill he'd first noticed when Morgan had broken the strange box. Or maybe it was just the waves of distrust and fear everyone was feeling.

"Well, this all seems ridiculous to me," Devon said. "All everyone has to do is go up to their room, and go to sleep. I hardly think there's any danger, and I for one don't believe in ghosts."

"Then you would be a fool," Dr. Stanislov countered, his gravelly voice dripping with contempt.

"Took you only a couple of hours to figure that one out, Stanny?" Casey commented, working on another cigar.

"I'm a bit more worried about more earthbound dangers," Sarah pointed out. "There's a lot of motive here for making sure the number of inheritors shrinks."

Chuck looked over at the Doctor and secretary. Both seemed harmless enough, but who could say.

"I think maybe what we should do first is make sure there aren't any deadly weapons lying around."

"And what are we supposed to do with them when we find them?" Penelope asked. "I'm not going to just hand them over to you, so you can bump us off so your husband can inherit everything!"

"I'm not going to…"

"Wait, I have an idea," Ellie interrupted. "I think I saw an old coal chute in the kitchen. We can drop any weapons down there. It should lead outside, so none of us can reach them."

This idea seemed to satisfy everyone, so Sarah made another suggestion. "We should split up. Nobody should be alone."

"Great," Devon said. "I'll go with Sarah and Ellie."

"Probably a good idea," Dr. Stanislov said. "They could use the protection of a big guy like you."

Chuck bit his lip to avoid laughing at the thought of Sarah needing protection. Though he was a bit annoved that she didn't make an effort to team up with him. "I'll, uh…take Casey. He seems to know a lot about all of this."

Casey grunted his best 'I don't think so' grunt. "No way, Bartowski. You'd probably try to knock me off so you could get my share to buy more Star Wars dolls. I'll go with Doc Stanislov and Penelope."

"I guess that leaves you and me, Chuck," Morgan said.

Not feeling reassured, Chuck grabbed Sarah's arm. "Are you sure about this?"

"Ellie and Devon need my protection, Chuck," she answered. "Besides, you've got the Intersect to keep you safe. Nobody else does."

"Not sure kung fu's going to work all that well on ghosts."

"Forget the ghosts," Sarah rolled her eyes. "And keep an eye out for that secretary and the quack. I don't trust either of them."

Chuck watched his wife leave with Ellie and Devon, trying to ignore the concern in the pit of his stomach. Still, he almost jumped when he felt someone grab his arm. "C'mon," he heard Morgan say. "Let's go search the kitchen first."

* * *

"Chuck's going to be fine. Whatever the Intersect hasn't taught him about protecting himself, you have."

Ellie's words made sense, but they only comforted Sarah a little. "I know, it's just…I have a bad feeling about this place."

Sarah, Ellie and Devon had chosen the upstairs to do their searching. They'd peeked through a couple of bedrooms and found nothing, and now were searching the library. So far they'd added two letter openers and a pair of foreboding-looking brass bookends to the pile of potential deadly weapons.

"Oh c'mon, you're not actually taking what Casey said seriously?" Devon asked.

"Well, no. Not exactly. But it's just…this place, I guess."

"You married into a family of weirdos, Sarah. No offense, Babe."

"None taken," Ellie responded. "Look at all of these books on the occult. Raising the dead, voodoo, necromancy. Uncle Horace was definitely a weirdo."

Devon joined his wife at the bookshelf. "Hey do you suppose this is like one of those old movies, where you move one book and it reveals a secret passageway? That would be awesome."

"That old cliché?" Ellie replied, rifling through desk drawers. "I doubt it."

"Hold on, check this out! Every book on this shelf is about magic or ghosts or something like that, other than one." Devon pointed to the binder of one book in the middle of a waist-high shelf. "50 Shades of Grey! Has to be fake!" He removed the book.

Nothing happened.

"So much for your secret passage theory," Ellie commented. "I guess Uncle Horace was a fan."

"Apparently," Devon said drily. "There are a lot of dog-eared pages in here."

"Yuk."

"Hey, do you suppose he used to read this with Penelope?"

"God, Devon, please!"

"We really should focus on finding any weapons and get out of here," Sarah interrupted, still worried about Chuck.

"Whoa, I think page 138 must have been a particular favorite," Devon said, nonplussed, as he flipped through the book. "I bet ol' Horace and Penelope re-enacted this one a few times."

Ellie grabbed a book off of the shelf and threw it at her husband. Devon ducked, and the book sailed over his head, hitting the wing of a brass eagle hanging on the wall. A clicking sound echoed through the room, and the bookshelf shifted to the right.

"Let's hear it for clichés," Sarah commented, peering at the dark passageway that the bookshelf had been hiding.

"Sh-should we go down there?" Devon asked uncertainly.

"Could be a way out. Could come in handy in an emergency."

"I would think an exit would have more light coming from it, not less."

"Well, we should check it out anyway," Sarah said resolutely. "But, we should probably grab some more candles."

* * *

"…I'm just sayin' that we shouldn't necessarily be buying into the Parker Brothers hype. I mean, say you're Mrs. Peacock, this old, lonely widow. You want to do in a big due like Mr. Boddy, you do it from a distance. You use the revolver, or maybe you poison him. You're not going to go up to him and hit him with a candlestick! Too risky.

"Ok, maybe if you're Colonel Mustard. You're big and strong, you could probably kill somebody with it. Heck, maybe they've had military candlestick training, so they can fight off North Korean insurgents in a Bed, Bath and Beyond if necessary. I should ask Casey about that some time."

"Morgan…"

"And let's just say, for argument's sake, that you would kill somebody with a candlestick. What kind of a house has only one candlestick in it? Don't they usually come in twos. Or twenty-nines," Morgan added, looking around at the menagerie of candles surrounding the kitchen.

"Morgan, for the love of God!" Finally getting his friend's attention, Chuck pressed on. "I get that you don't want to collect every candlestick in the house, but we have to focus."

"Well, it's not like we can just leave the candles without them. Although, maybe your Uncle Horace figured the fire would be what would kill us."

"Morgan, please. I'd like to be able to hear any screams or moans. Here," he said, handing Morgan a disturbingly large kitchen knife he'd found in a drawer, "put this in the box."

"Now this is a noif." Morgan said in a bad Australian accent.

"You find anything else deadly in here, other than your Paul Hogan?"

"Let's see." Morgan peered into the box. "Two corkscrews, a meat thermometer, and a couple of rubber bands I wasn't sure about but figure could do some damage if shot into an eye. More importantly, have you found any food? I'm still starving after that 'dinner'."

Chuck opened up a cabinet door near his head. "Clearly, there was no danger of running out of Spam tonight," pointing out several stacks of identical metal tins. "Other than that, not much."

"Great." Morgan jumped up and down a few times, struggling to reach another one of the high cabinet doors. Finally, the door popped open, and a bottle nearly fell on the bearded man's head. After fumbling around for a moment, he managed to grab the bottle before it hit the floor.

"Pickled newt juice?" Morgan read off the label.

"Strong stuff. I wouldn't recommend it." Chuck shut the cabinet door, and gave the kitchen a once-over. "We should finish up in here, and move on. There are a lot of rooms in this house, and clearly being in here is just making you moan and groan."

"I wasn't moaning, or groaning for that matter," Morgan protested. "I'm just a bit hungry is all."

"It's alright, I get it. I didn't eat much either."

"Hey, I swear, I…" Morgan paused. "Wait, I heard something too! From out there."

Chuck listened again, and realized Morgan was right. There was a sound coming from outside. "Uh, should we check it out?"

"Er…Maybe we should stay here."

"Someone could be hurt." Chuck tried to push any memories of the Casey-induced flash out of his mind. "We should look."

"Ok," Morgan sighed. He reached into the box and retrieved the corkscrew. "After you."

* * *

"I can see why you'd want to hide a place like this," Ellie commented, as she followed Sarah and Devon down the dark stairwell. "Not really something you'd want to highlight on the Realtor's tour."

"I don't know. Seems to be the hip hangout for spiders," Devon looked up at the cobweb-laden walls. "And probably worse," he added looking down at the floor.

"What _is_ this place?" Sarah carefully waved the candle she was holding around the room. The room was filled with tables and shelves, all covered with dusty objects. In one corner stood what appeared to be a gurney. Avoiding that, she went over to one of the shelves and studied the contents. "Yuk," she said. "Is that a fetal pig in this jar?"

"Well, at least bacon's an option for breakfast."

"I think I'll pass," Sarah replied.

"Jinkies!"

Sarah and Devon both turned to see Ellie flipping through a stack of musty tomes atop another shelf. "You find something?"

"Hmm?" Ellie looked up. "Oh, no. I just remembered that Jinkies was the name of the pizza place on Hamilton. It'd been bugging me all night." She looked back down at one of the books. "Though these are a bit odd. Old Horace must have liked his experiments. Look at these," she added, flipping through one particularly daunting-looking volume. "Old medical books. I've heard of some of these, too. All discredited."

"Odd thing to have, for someone who didn't like science."

"Well, that's part of why they were discredited. Not much science, but a lot of…other stuff."

"Hey, check this out." Sarah was leaning over a desk at the other side of the room. "Looks like a hand-written journal or something. Unfortunately, I can't read it. It's in Latin."

"I thought you were good with foreign languages?"

"Just the living ones." She moved aside and let Ellie take a look. A moment later the neurosurgeon reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. "For reading," she explained apologetically. "It's no big deal. Not like I'd be fumbling around in the dark if I lost them." She studied the book silently for a moment. "Huh. _Spiritus ego dimittam vos, et vade vexatum alteri placent_. Don't really remember that phrase from medical school."

Sarah hugged herself, trying to wade off a sudden chill, and looked through the desk drawers. "A lot of other stuff in here. Some of it in English too."

"Newspaper clippings," Devon said, looking over her shoulder.

Sarah glanced at one. "It's about a gangster in the 1920's, Joey Santello. Ran with Capone in the 20's."

"Alright! Go Chicago!"

Sarah gave Devon a glance, and read on. "Says he died in 1931. His body was found in a car at the bottom of the Chicago River. His, uh, head was found elsewhere. According to the article it was suspected he'd been talking to the FBI."

"Great, but I'm not sure why Uncle Horace cared about it."

"Maybe your uncle was a mob fixer, Babe."

"Tonight I'll believe about anything." Ellie took another clipping. "This one's about a family. Jared and Alice Scott, and their son James Henry. Died in a fire at their mansion in Northern California in 1976."

Sarah read another. "Alicia Le Fanu. Wife of Brandon Le Fanu. Died suddenly in 1951, at age 28. According to the article, she was quite…popular with quite a number of men in New Orleans. It also implies that her death was a bit mysterious. Husband suspected, nothing ever proven."

"Can't say I think much of Uncle Horace's morbid scrapbooking, but I guess everyone needs a hobby."

"He was definitely one weird dude. Wait, did you hear that? That sounded like…"

"A scream. Chuck!" Sarah turned to the exit. "You guys stay here. I'll see if he's ok!"

* * *

"Morgan, for God's sake!"

"Sorry, Chuck. But if you're going to tell me that I was loud enough to wake the dead, I gotta tell you I'm 0 for 1 so far."

Sure enough, Morgan's high-pitched effect had had no effect on the body lying on the hallway floor. Doctor Stanislov, or at least his body, was face down on the carpet, his limbs splayed about him. His gray hair was matted with dark red blood.

"Might have known where I'd find girly screams I'd find Burbank's version of Abbott and Costello."

Chuck and Morgan turned to see Casey standing at the base of the spiral staircase, a slight smirk on his face. "Looks like there's one less person to share the loot with now," he said, pointing down at Stanislov's body.

"Uh, Casey, you didn't…"

The ex-Colonel rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Just came down here now."

"Then Penelope?"

"That's one theory."

"A rational one," Chuck replied. "and I think I'll stick with it for now. Do you know where she is?"

Casey shook his head. "I left her and the Doc upstairs, searching the bedrooms. Figured I needed some heavy artillery, considering what we're up against."

"Heavy artillery?"

"CIA issue, specially designed for combating the non-corporeal."

"Hold on, John," Morgan objected. "You trying to tell me that the CIA is in the ghostbusting business?"

"Only those with the right kind of training. Beckman spent several years battling spooks herself." He smirked. "Why d'ya think she named our base of operations after William Castle?"

"Sorry, Casey, I'm not buying this. I mean why would a ghost kill Stanislov? And for that matter, how? I mean wouldn't they just float right through him?"

Casey shook his head in disgust. "This isn't that friendly Casper Hollywood BS. Ghosts are the spirits of people that died suddenly, with unresolved issues. So that makes them pissed, and motivated. And as for the how, a ghost can always possess another person, or even an inanimate object if it needs to. Then all they have to do is grab something like this," Casey bent down to the ground and grabbed a candlestick lying on the floor, "and whack!"

Morgan peered at the reddish stain at the end of the candlestick. "Guess I owe the Parker Brothers an apology."

"It's a lot more common than your naïve worldview would have you believe, Bartowski. Pretty much all of the Soviet Prime Ministers were possessed by Rasputin. Made our jobs a hell of a lot more difficult." Casey turned back to the body. "Now, all we have to do is get this out of here."

"Why? Is it going to…rise up?"

"Don't be an idiot, Bartowski. It's just rude. This isn't our house." Casey put down the candlestick and headed towards the front door.

"Wait, aren't you going to help?"

"Course not. Gotta go to the bathroom."

"Seriously Casey? Now?"

"It's where I left my equipment. Safest place in the house."

"The bathroom? Seriously?"

"Of course. Ghosts hate it there. Reminds them of all the stuff they can't do anymore." Casey headed towards the far end of the hallway. "Anyway, I'm sure you two can handle one little dead body, right?"

* * *

"Whew. You know, Chuck, when I volunteered to come with you this weekend, it was for moral support and brotherly advice. Not manual labor."

They had just finished dragging Doctor Stanislov into the sitting room the will had been read in. As soon as they had finished, Morgan had collapsed onto the couch.

Chuck's difficulties had less to do with the body itself, and more with the Intersect. His brain-gizmo apparently included several tips for disposing of dead bodies, and it had taken quite a bit of self-control to keep them from kicking in. Of course, it had also helped that there weren't any shovels or band saws in the immediate vicinity.

"So now what?"

"Now, we find Sarah and the others. They need to know there's a killer on the loose."

"Right." Morgan followed Chuck towards the door. "Uh, a living one or a dead one?"

"I'd say I could give a pretty good description." Chuck had stopped in his tracks as soon as he'd pushed the door open. Standing in the hallway, her black dress now stained with blood, was Penelope. Chuck wasn't sure whether he was more disturbed by the wild look in her eyes or the axe currently in her hand.

Morgan looked over at the axe, and then down at his own corkscrew. "It would have been nice if she'd told us where the _good_ weapons were," he whispered.

"What are you doing in my house?" the woman asked.

"Well, technically, it's not your house yet…"

"Morgan!"

"It's _my_ house." The woman's voice was cold, but also unusually high-pitched, as if coming from a child.

"Ok, ok." Chuck held his hands out in a calming motion. "It's your house. It's a lovely house. All nice and…goth-y. I appreciate you letting us visit. Just, don't you think it would be a good hostess-like thing to put down the axe?"

Penelope's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me what to do. My mommy and daddy told me what to do. I hated that."

"Yeah, that's not helping," Morgan whispered.

"Ok, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, or bring up any daddy issues. Morgan," Chuck whispered. "Remember that suit of armor we saw in the study? With the sword? Could you go get it?"

"Right," Morgan whispered back. "Uh, just the sword or the armor too?"

"Just go." Chuck sighed. This time he knew he couldn't push aside the flash when it hit.

* * *

_As you can see, I'm not above throwing in a reference my own earlier "Bloodcurdling" stories._

_Chapter 3 will be up in a couple of days._


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't own "Chuck." If I did, I suspect that after this chapter they'd take it away from me._

**Chapter 3**

Hand-to-hand combat flashes tend to come in handy on occasion. One never knows when one might need to protect oneself, especially when one finds himself interacting with terrorists and mercenaries on a regular basis. Chuck certainly had learned that it's better to have them than to have to rely on his own somewhat meager abilities. At the moment, for example, he suspected he wouldn't be lasting much longer without the Intersect.

Unfortunately, at the moment, it didn't seem to be helping him much either.

Despite her petite size and an age that Chuck had been too polite to ask about, Penelope was displaying a size and speed that he wasn't able to fend off. Throw in the disturbingly sharp axe in her hand, and he figured his minutes were numbered.

Chuck grabbed a candlestick, and managed to block a particularly non-secretary-like swing from the axe. The look on Penelope's face shifted from sneer to pout when her attack failed, but then brightened when Chuck was forced to discard the two pieces of candlestick he'd suddenly found himself holding.

"Yeah, a revolver wouldn't suck right about now," he mumbled.

Neither would a sword, but Morgan hadn't yet returned. He wasn't sure that would have helped all that much either, but at the moment all he had was the Intersect. Clearly the hand-to-hand skills it had given him weren't the answer; he needed more relevant expertise.

"Casey, where are you?" he called. "Got your favorite here. Homicidal, possibly dead, maniac!"

When no one appeared, Chuck dodged the next swing from the axe, and then turned around and ran to the stairs. Penelope followed him, climbing the stairwell with her otherworldly speed. At the last step, she reached out, causing Chuck to lose his balance. He fell to the floor, and struggled to crawl away from his attacker.

"I don't like you," Penelope said, standing over him.

"Yeah, I kind of get that. Too bad, really. I'm kind of a likeable person."

Unconvinced, Penelope raised the axe.

"Quit trying to chop my husband's head off, you bitch!"

In a whirl of movement, Penelope was knocked off her feet. She still held on to the axe, though, and swung it defensively.

"Sarah, watch out!"

However, the CIA agent easily ducked the axe, and punched Penelope in the throat. She fell backwards, but managed to keep her balance. The older woman prepared to charge Sarah, the axe over her head.

Chuck watched his wife take a quick peek behind her, and see the half-circle window separating the upstairs hall from the second story veranda. She quickly looked back in time to dodge the charging secretary. Penelope, unable to slow down, crashed through the veranda window. Outside, she wasn't able to regain her footing on the wet balcony, and hurtled over the railing.

Sarah hurried over and embraced her husband. "My God, Chuck, are you ok?"

"Oh, just fine and completely un-chopped into bits. You?"

Sarah nodded. "What exactly is going on?"

"Umm, would you like the rational explanation, or the Casey-approved nonsensical one."

"From what I've seen so far tonight, nonsensical is probably the way to go."

* * *

"Yeah, I guess that kind of fits," Sarah commented after Chuck had filled her in.

"I'm guessing it's too much to hope for that we're all safe now with Penelope and Doctor Stanislov gone."

Sarah shook her head. "I'm not sure I believe everything we've been told tonight, but I'm not willing to rule out anything. And that means we can't assume that we're safe yet. Especially based on what I found with Ellie and Devon."

A look of alarm hit Chuck. "Ellie!"

"She's fine, Chuck. I left her and Devon downstairs. But we should find them."

"And Morgan and Casey too. Casey seems to know a lot of what's going on. He was going to find some CIA gear that would help. He said they were in the bathroom." Sarah raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

Casey was indeed in the bathroom. At first, Chuck thought he'd interrupted him by looking in, but then he realized that while the big man was seated on the toilet, he wasn't actually _sitting_ on the toilet. He also wasn't moving.

"I've never seen him like this," Chuck said. Casey's face was pale, with a horrified expression on his face.

"I have. Twice. Once in November 2008 and once in November 2012."

Chuck waved a hand in front of the former NSA agent. There was no reaction.

"This is not good."

"Well," Sarah said, taking Chuck's hand. "I guess we'll have to figure things out ourselves. C'mon, let's find the others."

* * *

It had taken quite a bit of effort to pry the sword out of the hands of the suit of armor, but Morgan finally had the thin rapier in his hands. After swinging the sword around a few times on the off chance that silent ghosts were floating behind him, he left to search for Chuck. He quietly moved back through the dining room, finally reaching the door back into the hallway. Holding his breath, he slowly pushed the door open.

The hall was empty, and happily pool-of-blood free. Seeing no Chuck, and no axe-wielding secretary, in sight, he cautiously entered the hall.

Nobody was there, living, dead or somewhere in between. Morgan sighed in relief, and appreciated the relative quiet.

Quiet, except for the slight rumbling in his stomach.

Having already ruled out the kitchen as a possible source of snack food, Morgan considered his plight. He knew that he'd finished his own stash during the first fifteen minutes of the car trip, but if there was one thing he could count on, it was Ellie Woodcomb always being prepared. She was a doctor, after all.

When they had first arrived at the house, Morgan remembered that the lawyer had taken their jackets and umbrellas into a small coat room off to the side of the entrance. Hopefully, Ellie's purse was there too. He headed to the front entrance and found the side door leading to the storage room.

Jackpot.

By the floor, Morgan recognized Ellie's black purse. Without a moment's hesitation or embarrassment, he opened the zipper and began rifling through the contents. At first he found nothing other than hand sanitizer, a hair brush, a note pad, breath mints (which he took, in case he needed to hide the evidence of his petty larceny) and a few stray dollar bills. Finally, at the bottom he found one of Devon's beloved granola bars. He would prefer something that tasted a bit less like styrofoam, but it would have to do. He tore open the wrapper, and began eating.

Not pleasant, but not spam either.

After a moment, Morgan could have sworn his munching was causing an echo back in the main hall. He stopped eating, and listened. It certainly sounded like something. Like footsteps, very faint footsteps. Very slowly, he peeked out the door.

There was definitely a shadow bouncing around in the flickering candlelight.

Leaning just slightly further, the large shadow seemed to come from a very small figure. A small figure he happened to recognize. "Why is that out there?" he asked.

It had been a last minute decision. He'd packed the Superman action figure, a twelve-inch commemorative limited edition figure he'd picked up at Comic-con a few years back, for good luck. Nothing could go wrong with Superman around, after all.

Of course, that bit of logic centered around Superman being a good-luck charm, and most good-luck charms didn't move around on their own.

Morgan retrieved his sword, and walked slowly into the hall. "I don't want to hurt you, little guy," he said.

The action figure didn't respond, but turned its head to look at him.

"I assume you don't want to hurt me either, right? I've been a good owner, right? Kept you in good condition. I only spilled soda on you that one time. And I've taken you on trips to see scenic places like this, right?"

The toy moved slowly forward.

"God, I hope you don't have his superpowers." Super-strength and heat vision would definitely be bad, though maybe the X-ray vision would be ok. Morgan put one hand behind his back, and raised two fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

The action figure, rather than answering Morgan's question, decided to attack.

* * *

"I don't care how things turn out tonight. I do _not_ want this house."

Sarah had led Chuck down into the secret passageway, and he was now surveying the messy, disturbing contents. Unfortunately, neither Ellie nor Devon was still there.

"Where do you think they could have gone? I told them to stay here."

"Well, you know us Bartowskis," Chuck smiled. "We never stay when we're told to." He touched the far wall a few times. "I don't think there's another secret passage, so they must have gone back up."

"And gone where? We didn't see them when we came back here."

"I don't know, but I sure as heck don't want to stay in this place."

Sarah and Chuck climbed the stairs back into the library. "We should try upstairs, in their bedroom," Sarah suggested. "Maybe they're holed up in there."

On their way back to the stairway, they passed through the lounge. Each time he'd gone through this room, Chuck had become more and more tempted to investigate the contents of the bar standing in the corner of the room. Considering what he'd seen so far, he figured he was entitled. As he followed Sarah into the room this time, however, he could see that he'd been beaten to it.

Devon was standing there, drinking from a highball glass filled with amber liquid.

"Devon, there you are," Chuck sighed in relief. "Where's Ellie?"

Devon's face betrayed no recognition. "Who are you?"

Chuck gave his wife a startled glance. "Uh, it's me, Chuck. You know, your Bro-in-law?"

"Don't know any Chuck. Now, why don't you and the doll breeze off before I have to paste you?"

"Is that some Chicago slang?" Chuck asked Sarah. "He really embraced that move, didn't he?"

"It is," Sarah replied to Chuck's first question. "Or at least it was."

Devon stared at Chuck and Sarah for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. He quickly raised his arm, pointing a familiar firearm at them.

"Uh, Devon, how did you get Casey's gun? And more importantly, why are you pointing it at us?"

"Capone sent you to rub me out, didn't he? Thinks I'm a stool pigeon. Well you ain't gonna pop me!"

Sarah moved forward, and stood in front of Chuck. "We're not here to send you to the big sleep, Bub. For as I care, you can drift and we won't finger you. We're gunning for a dame."

Devon's resolution seemed to waver slightly, though he kept the gun aimed at Sarah. "A dame? You dicks or something?"

"Did he just call us…"

Sarah ignored Chuck. "Something like that. This chick is a grafter, got a hold of a lot of cabbage, and took a powder."

Devon pointed at Chuck. "Is the nance the sap?"

"I'm pretty sure I followed that," Chuck remarked, "and hey!"

"He's also a bit of a hop-head," Sarah told Devon. "Don't mind him. So, you pipe this skirt?"

"Ok, that sounds dirty."

"Actually, pipe means see," Sarah replied to Chuck out of the corner of her mouth.

Devon had seemed to be ready to put down the gun, but now he shook his head and took a step forward. "No. This is some kind of flim-flam. Now back off or I'm going to throw lead!"

Sarah made a move to back up, then quickly ducked down, reaching out a long leg. The move was effective, and she kicked the gun out of Devon's hand. The doctor, stunned by the sudden movement, reached back to slap Sarah, but a second kick hit him in the head, knocking him out cold.

"Chuck, give me your belt. We'll tie him to the chair."

Chuck followed his wife's instructions, and pulled his belt around Devon's wrists. Sarah found a bit of rope tying back a set of curtains, and tied Devon's ankles together.

"What was all of that?" Chuck asked as he tugged the belt tight. "What were you and Devon talking about?"

"That wasn't Devon. You remember those newspaper clippings I told you I found in the secret room? One of them was about somebody named Joey Santello. I think we just made his acquaintance."

"Um, ok." Chuck turned back to Sarah. "How'd you learn to talk like that?"

"I watched a lot of old movies as a kid," Sarah admitted. "Dad was a big Cagney fan."

Chuck beamed at his wife. "You never find new ways to amaze me, you know that?"

Sarah smiled back briefly, before her face became serious again. "Save your amazement until we can figure out how to bring your brother-in-law back. And we need to find Ellie and Morgan."

* * *

"Why couldn't I have bought the Aquaman figurine instead?"

Morgan's attempts to fend off the tiny possessed action figure were getting more desperate. What had first seemed like a silly, almost cute, adversary had grown into something more serious after a few blows to his ankle and shin. Now he was swinging the sword around, trying to hit the speedily moving Superman figure.

"This is getting ridiculous." Another swing went wide, leading to Morgan nearly doubling over. The action figure grabbed a bit of skin from his leg, squeezing tightly. "Ow! You're not supposed to have the kung-fu death grip!"

Morgan finally got free, and made another half-balanced swipe with the sword. It missed the toy completely, but instead sliced through a candle standing atop the hall table. The upper half of the candle fell, with the flame just nicking the action figure's cloak.

The toy immediately began to whirl around fervently, trying to put out the fire. Morgan stomped on the candle, making sure the fire didn't spread, and watched the rapidly melting toy continue to run in circles.

Finally, the figure was no more than a non-moving pile of wax. Morgan gave his former toy a sad glance, and ran upstairs. Hopefully, Chuck would be up there, safe from any attackers large or small.

He checked his best friend's bedroom, but neither he nor Sarah was inside. He was going to head back downstairs when he heard a voice call out, "Well, hello there."

He turned around, and peeked past the door he'd heard the voice come from. Inside, Ellie was lying down on the bed, on top of the covers. The negligee she was wearing seemed to have been meant for Devon's eyes only, as it left nothing to even Morgan's over-active imagination. It seemed somewhat inappropriate for a will reading.

"Uh, hello to you…too? Are you ok?"

"Never better." Ellie's voice was somewhere between a purr and a coo, and it was one that Morgan had never heard before – with the possible exception of in a dream or two.

"So, you're just getting ready for bed, huh?"

"Oh, I'm _always_ ready for bed." As if her tone of voice wasn't enough to convey her meaning, Ellie moved one hand up and done her bare leg.

Morgan felt that if his face were to get any redder, his beard would catch fire. Despite his best intentions, he stepped inside the room. "Where's your husband?" he finally asked, his voice hoarse.

"My husband?" Ellie scoffed. "He could never satisfy me. You know, I think he actually prefers men."

"I always kind of wondered about that," Morgan remarked. "All the time at the gym and stuff."

"Now, I'll bet you're a _real_ man." Ellie reached a hand up towards Morgan's face, grabbed a hold of a few of Morgan's whiskers and pulled him closer.

"Oh God, Ellie," Morgan uttered as his lips briefly became free of the young doctor's. But he was so immersed in the moment that he didn't notice the strange look in Ellie's eyes.

* * *

After making sure that Devon was still unconscious, and after a quick detour to check to that Casey was still in his frozen state, Chuck and Sarah headed back towards the front of the house to see if they could find the others. As they neared the front hall, a strange smell hit Chuck's nose.

"What is that?"

"It's coming from there," Sarah pointed at a small cloud of smoke coming from the center of the hall. They cautiously approached to have a look. "I think it's burnt wax."

"It looks like…Superman."

"Sorry, what?"

"Morgan's Superman action figure." Chuck shivered. "That's just disturbing."

"Chuck, two people have died tonight. You're worried about a toy?"

"Hey, it's limited edition! Besides, Morgan wouldn't have just destroyed it himself for no reason. He might be in trouble."

They looked around downstairs but found no sign of either Morgan or Ellie. Satisfied that no friends or sisters were to be found on that floor, they headed upstairs.

"We should check that secret room again," Sarah suggested. "That seems to be the focal point of all of this." However, a muffled moaning sound stopped them before they reached the study.

Sarah stopped, and motioned for Chuck to stand behind. "I think it's coming from in here," she pointed to one of the bedroom doors. "You wait for me out here." She peeked inside.

"Is everything…" Chuck whispered. When Sarah didn't respond, he added, "Oh God, how bad is it?"

"It's…pretty disturbing."

Chuck, fearing the worst, hurried into the room, then blinked in mute surprise. Morgan was lying on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. The sock stuffed into his mouth was the only bit of clothing currently attached to him.

Sarah, her eyes averted, reached over and removed the sock. "Morgan! Are you ok?"

The bearded man coughed, struggling to find air. "Man, why does this seem to happen every October?" he grumbled after his panting had subsided.

* * *

_To answer a question by a reviewer, yes I did cheat and use an online translator to come up with the Latin dialogue in the previous chapter. So I'm not surprised it doesn't make any sense. I believe the phrase I typed in was "Spirits, begone and go bug somebody else," so obviously it wasn't going to translate well._

_I used something similar for Possessed Devon's dialogue in this chapter. So it's probably not particularly accurate either. So if there are any actual 1930s gangsters reading this, please don't 'rub me out' but feel free to take a more 21__st__ Century approach and post a review telling me how poor a job I did. Non-1930s gangsters also are welcome, and encouraged, to do so._

_The rest of the story should be posted just in time for Halloween._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Morgan! Are you ok?" Sarah exclaimed, seeming remarkably unphased by the scene in front of her.

"I've…been better."

"Are you sure? Have you seen Ellie?"

"Um…no."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "I can tell when you're lying, you know. Now what happened? Where's Ellie?"

"I…don't know. Honestly. Do you think you can untie me now?"

"Not until you tell us everything." Sarah found a pillow and threw it over Morgan, covering up anything private. "Now…what…happened?"

One glimpse at Sarah's stern look melted away any of Sarah's defenses. "She came on to me! I swear!"

"Oh God." Chuck sat down on the bed. "Then you two…"

"No! We didn't! I mean…not quite. We…uh…started, but then she tied me up like this and left." Morgan struggled with his bonds, nearly knocking the pillow away. "Why would she do that?"

"Sometimes people do stupid things," Sarah replied, giving the bearded man a meaningful look. "But for what it's worth, that wasn't Ellie. She was possessed."

"Possessed? By who?" Morgan managed to look both hopeful and slightly disappointed at the same time.

"By someone without any standards, apparently." Sarah turned to her husband. "We need to find her, so we can get her and Devon back."

"We're going to need Casey," Chuck suggested, still looking a bit pale.

"Great idea, guys," Morgan spoke up. "Now if you'd just untie me…"

"Morgan," Sarah's look was dark, "you just tried to hook up with your best friend's sister, the wife of another one of your…and my…friends. I think maybe you would be better off right here, where nobody can hurt you. Somebody like me, for instance."

Morgan gulped. "But maybe I can help. Tell me about Casey. What's wrong with him?"

"He's frozen," Chuck answered, unwilling – for a number of reasons – to look at his friend. "Scared stiff."

Morgan thought for a second. "Ok, I think I have an idea. Just let me free."

* * *

"You really think this is going to work?" Chuck asked skeptically, staring at the still-petrified Casey.

"I think so." Morgan, once again dressed, was standing with Chuck and Sarah in the bathroom. He'd managed to find the exact spot in the room that maximized his distance away from Sarah. "If coma patients can awaken when they hear familiar sounds, I figure if Casey hears something comforting it could do the same."

"Well, I'd probably stop talking if I were you then," Sarah said. "I doubt your voice is particularly comforting to him."

"Well he can't be mad about… Alex and I broke up months ago!" Morgan shook his head. "Anyway, it's worth a shot. Chuck, you're up."

"Ok, but I'm not sure I remember all of the words."

"Hopefully, you won't need to go that far."

Chuck sighed, took a deep breath, and began. "_Money talks, but it don't sing and dance. And it don't walk, and long as I can have you here with me, I'd much rather be forever in blue jeans._"

"I saw him blink!" Sarah said. "I think it's working. Chuck, keep singing!"

"_Honey's sweet but it ain't nothin' next to baby's treat. And if you pardon me I'd like to say we'll do okay, forever in blue jeans_."

"Gah!" Casey yelled, some color returning to his cheeks. He looked around rapidly, before scowling at Chuck. "Bartowski. Don't ever sing to me again. You sound like a diseased baboon."

"Trust me, it's a deal. Are you ok?"

"Nothing a couple fingers of decent scotch couldn't fix. So what's been going on?"

Chuck and Sarah filled Casey in on everything that had happened so far that night. The ex-Colonel only interrupted with the occasional grunt. "So," Sarah finished, "we were hoping you could tell us how to bring Ellie and Devon back."

The big man considered for a moment, before finally standing up. Pointing to the ceiling, he said, "Bartowski. Move that loose tile up there, and take down my case."

Chuck stood on the toilet, pushing aside the one tile that Casey had pointed out. The suitcase hidden in the ceiling was heavy, and he nearly lost his balance and fell to the floor. Sarah grabbed his leg, and he managed to get to the floor feet first. "What's in this thing?" he asked once he'd put down the case.

"Just the essentials for a situation like this." Casey moved the lock to the appropriate three-digit combination, and the case opened.

Chuck peered inside. "Is that a crystal ball?"

"Don't mock things you know nothing about, Bartowski. Nothing amplifies psychic energy like crystal." He carefully took out the ball and placed it gently on the floor. Next he removed a red-and-yellow round hat, with a gold feather attached to a front.

"A swami hat?" Morgan asked, then seeing Casey's glare, added, "I'm sure you can pull off the look."

Finally, Casey retrieved a vial filled with a white powder. Seeing the questioning glances around him, he explained, "a little recipe, filled with all sorts of things ghosts hate. Salt, dishwashing detergent, grated parmesan cheese, and diet Crystal Lite mix. It should keep us safe, and de-possessed. Now, I need you guys to fetch a few things." He turned to Sarah, "this book you found, with the Latin text, we're going to need it. We're also going to need that box that was so clumsily broken," he added, eying Morgan. "Most importantly, we're going to need our possessed friends."

"Well, the book and the box should be where we left them," Sarah said. "And Devon should still be tied up in the lounge. But we have no idea where Ellie is."

"We're going to need her, so you'd better find her. You two get her back to the parlour, while I grab the other Doc. Grimes can get the rest of the stuff, _if_ he can handle it."

* * *

"So, if you were a fallen woman from the 1940s, where would you hang out?"

Chuck and Sarah had checked through all of the bedrooms, but there was no sign of Ellie, possessed or otherwise. Chuck was beginning to get worried that his sister had managed to find an exit from the house. Normally, that would be good news, but he could only imagine what trouble Alicia Le Fanu could possibly find when left alone in the 21st Century. He could imagine finding his sister shacked up with the Oakland Raiders defensive line.

"Wait, you hear that?" Sarah stopped.

At first, Chuck couldn't hear anything. But then he thought he heard a faint tinkling sound coming from above. "Must be in the attic. But how do we get up there?"

They re-checked all of the upstairs rooms, but there didn't appear to be any other doors, hidden or not. After intently studying the ceiling for any sign of a trapdoor, Sarah decided to go back and re-check the study. She turned to tell Chuck about her plan, but found him intently studying his reflection in a mirror hanging between two of the bedroom doorways.

"Uh, Chuck, now isn't really the time for your vanity to check in."

"Hmm?" Chuck looked over at his wife. "Oh, no, it's not that. I just noticed that this mirror just reflects the wall on the other side, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, it looks like the reflection of the wall at the very top over there is a bit of a different color than the actual wall behind it."

Sarah went over to look. For the most part, the unappealing beige pattern reflected in the mirror matched what it was reflecting. But the top of the reflection was somewhat lighter, as if it was matching a slightly cleaner version of the aging wallpaper behind it.

"You're right." Sarah said. "Hold on." She disappeared briefly into their room, before returning with an apple.

"You brought food? And you were holding out on us?"

Sarah, rather than answer Chuck's question, tossed the apple at the top of the mirror. Chuck was expecting to see the glass break, but the apple merely bounced right back into his wife's hand. Then he heard a click, and the mirror slowly moved forward on squeaky hinges.

"In most cases, I'd love all of these secret doors," Chuck commented, peering into the passageway behind the mirror. From above, the tinkling sound was clearly louder.

Sarah motioned him to be quite and headed inside, candle in hand. Chuck followed, finding a set of rickety stairs leading upward. As they ascended, the repeated sounds began to form a melody.

"A music box?" Chuck said. After a moment of close listening, added, "playing Superfreak?"

Sarah shushed him, as they began to near to top. The attic was a jumble of anything and everything nobody would ever want. The boxes and stacks of old newspapers were made slightly more visible by the occasional flash of lightning appearing through the large circular window at the far end of the room. Despite the sparks of light, it was everything Chuck could do to avoid tripping on the voluminous junk. He also came very close to shrieking when he noticed a silhouette at one corner, before realizing it was an old mannequin wearing what appeared to be an old military uniform.

Rather than admonishing him, Sarah's attention was focused on another dark figure standing in the room. Ellie was there, staring at what appeared to be an old music box. Finally, the music began to slow to a crawl, and a squeak on the floor alerted her that she was not alone.

Ellie studied Sarah with hungry eyes, a slow smile creeping on her face. "I think I might have picked the wrong body. I could have _so_ much fun with that one."

"Ellie, it's me, Sarah." The doctor showed no recognition, but instead appeared annoyed. "Don't tell me you're going to be a disappointment, like the last one. He called me by the wrong name. I hate that." She turned to give Chuck a decidedly non-sisterly look. "Maybe the beanpole will work out better."

"Ellie, it's ok. We'll get you back." Sarah moved forward, but Ellie reached out a hand, and pushed Sarah to the ground.

Chuck was about to check to see if his wife had survived the clearly supernaturally-amplified attack, but was held back by a strong arm. "I could do better, but the options seem to be slim here," Ellie said, before kissing her brother right on the lips.

"Mmmph…" Chuck protested, before Ellie finally broke off the embrace.

"Something seemed…strange. Wrong." Ellie stepped back, her face a mask of confusion. Her expression suddenly became blank a moment later, and she tumbled to the floor.

Chuck ran to his sister, then turned to Sarah, who had regained her footing and was holding the weapon she had just fired. "A tranq?"

"I thought we might need it, so I brought it along."

"What kind of a will reading were you expecting?"

"Actually," Sarah said, putting the dart gun away, "or a will reading this is about average. Help me pick up your sister."

* * *

When they had finally managed to carry the unconscious Ellie downstairs into the hall, they found Casey and Morgan had been busy. Casey, now wearing the swami hat, was sprinkling the small powder on the floor in a large circle. The was a small round table standing within the circle, with a few chairs surrounding it, and the crystal ball lying on top. Morgan was seated on one of the chairs, still trying to rearrange the wooden pieces back into its original box shape.

Devon was slumped onto a chair outside the circle, his arms still tied to the armrests. Chuck thought he noticed a small trickle of blood on his temple. "Uh, Casey, did you hit my brother-in-law?"

"Had to. He woke up, started yammering about speakeasies and crap. Figured it would be easier to keep him quiet. He'll be fine…eventually."

Chuck and Sarah dropped Ellie onto another chair, and went over to the small table. Morgan had finally given up on the box, and was now leafing through the old, dusty book that had been found in the secret passage. "Careful with that!" Casey growled. "Don't lose my place."

"So, what is all this stuff supposed to do?" Chuck asked, joining Sarah, who had taken a seat at a small table located at the center of the circle.

"It's not that complicated," Casey replied as he finished scattering the powder on the floor. "Something in this book, when read aloud, activated all of the spookers that had been trapped in this house. So we just need to find the right passage to de-activate them."

"You read Latin?" Sarah asked in surprise.

"Don't you?"

"So, the book is what caused the ghosts to be released?" Morgan asked. "It wasn't me?"

"Oh it was you alright, Nimrod. You released them by breaking the box. The book just made them remember how to be total pains in the ass."

"Then we need to put this thing back together?" Chuck said, studying the wooden remnants scattered around the floor.

"No, not necessarily. The wood is specially anointed to attract ghosts, so they'll come right to it. Then we just burn the wood, and no more ghosts."

"So there's like ghost glue on these?" Morgan said, picking up one of the larger pieces. "Like WD-666?"

"Don't be a moron. These are ghosts we're dealing with, not demons. For those, I'd need a whole other set of equipment. Trust me, you should be glad we've only got ghosts here."

"Casey," Chuck remarked, "one of these days you're going to publish your memoirs, and I'm going to be the first in line to buy it."

* * *

Once Casey had finished setting up the room, he took the old book and sat down at the table. As the older man cleared his throat and lightly touch the crystal ball, a thought occurred to Chuck.

"There are supposed to be three ghosts, right? We've only got those two," he pointed at Ellie and Devon, "here. What about the third one, the boy?"

"Well, she was possessing Penelope, right?" Sarah spoke up. "The way she kept talking about her parents, she must have been. And she died. Does that mean the ghost is gone?"

"No. That wouldn't do it." Casey considered.

"What about if it possessed an object that got destroyed?" Morgan asked. "Like an action figure?"

Casey shook his head. "Wouldn't work. Ghost number 3 is still around. We're going to need him." He gave Morgan a speculative look, then pushed him out of the circle. Before the bearded man could react, Casey intoned, "_Adepto super hic vos bardus phasmatis quod usus moron illac_!"

"Hey!" Morgan objected. "First I have to ruin a perfectly good limited edition action figure, and now this? Not right, man!"

Morgan wasn't the only person stirring outside the circle. Chuck noticed that Devon was coming to. The doctor surveyed the room briefly, then his eyes widened. "I should really lay off the moonshine."

Casey had returned his attention to the book. "_Lemures , EGO requiro vos , verto ex is letalis regnum_!"

Devon didn't seem to flinch, and Morgan was still looking around wildly. "You know, just because I almost…" Then his expression became momentarily blank, before being replaced by a slightly different wild-eyed and confused look. "Whoa," he said a moment later, looking around. "Far out!"

"_Lemures , EGO requiro vos , verto ex is letalis regnum_!" Casey repeated, this time a bit louder.

"Hey, that hurts!" Morgan objected. Both Morgan and Devon seemed to be struggling to stay on their feet, as if they were trying to keep their balance during a hurricane. At the same time, Ellie began to stir slightly.

Casey repeated the incantation again, and now Morgan fell to the floor, landing on the ground near a side table.

"I think it's working!" Chuck yelled.

"Of course it is! Your uncle knew what he was doing."

"Ooh," Morgan said, still on the ground, as he looked underneath the table, "I want this!" He reached underneath, and retrieved the sword that had been discarded earlier. "Cool!" he said as he swung the sword around. "Try that again!" he yelled towards Casey, approaching the others. He tried to step over the circle, but an unseen force pushed him backwards.

Casey repeated the incantation once again, backing Morgan further away from the circle. The bearded man growled in a voice that bore no resemblance to Morgan's usual affable tone or that of a younger boy. "YOU WILL NOT DO THIS TO ME!"

"Ok, that's freaky," Chuck commented.

Another unholy growl came from Morgan's lips. ""NOBODY TELLS ME WHAT TO DO!"

"Give me that!" a suddenly awake Ellie said to Morgan as she snatched the sword from his hands.

Morgan turned around, but his angry expression melted into a shocked and slightly confused one as he eyed over the lingerie-clad doctor. "So that's what puberty feels like," he gulped.

"_Lemures , EGO requiro vos , verto ex is letalis regnum_!" Casey yelled again. Chuck felt a cold wind pushing against him, and it was all he could do to keep his balance.

"_Lemures , EGO require v…" _Casey faltered, as his eyes met Ellie's._ "Lemure…"_

Ellie swung the sword, swiping it at Casey. The big man lost his balance, the hat tumbling to the ground. He fought to keep his footing, but stepped outside the protective circle.

Devon had managed to free himself, and he now approached Casey menacingly. "So you're the mug whose been trying to take me down." He leaned in towards the ex-NSA agent. "You've got a copper face. I don't like coppers." He shoved Casey down to the ground, then grabbed a candlestick and held it over its head. "You're going to be wearing a wooden kimono!"

"We have to do something!" Sarah yelled to Chuck. The cold air that had been circling through the room had turned into a harsh wind, its howling echoing through the room.

Chuck looked around, desperate for an idea of how to help. He saw the hat on the ground, and a crazy idea occurred to him. He stood up, grabbed the hat and the broken remants of the box, then jumped out of the circle.

"Chuck! What are you doing?" Sarah yelled. Seeing what was going on, Ellie smiled a cruel smile and approached her brother, still brandishing the sword.

Placing the hat on his head, Chuck yelled, "_Lemures , EGO requiro vos , verto ex is letalis regnum_!"

Devon looked up briefly, then his expression turned blank, and the candlestick clattered to the floor. A moment later, Chuck felt a sharp pain in his head, and he saw a brief vision of men in fedoras, machine guns in hand. A second later, he saw the room again, with Devon now slumped to the ground.

A second throbbing pain hit him then, with the image of fire surrounding him. A second later, he felt a third pain, this time accompanied by the image of an angry man holding a pillow over his face. A second later, he fell to the ground, not noticing the sudden quiet hitting the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next thing Chuck knew, he was lying on the sitting room sofa, with Sarah's and Ellie's concerned faces hovering over him. "Are you alright?" Sarah asked.

Chuck blinked, and put his hand to his temple. Feeling no pain, he nodded.

"What happened?" his wife asked.

Chuck smiled briefly. "The ghosts. I think I, uh, uploaded them. They're part of the Intersect now."

"And you knew that was going to happen?"

"Well, I couldn't be sure. But I figured."

"That was one hell of a risk to take," Sarah swatted him on the arm. "I married _you_, remember. Not some gangster reject."

"Or the 1940s female version of John Mayer? Yeah, I know. But I figured it was our best shot." He looked over at Ellie. "How are you?"

"Ok. I don't…remember much."

"Probably better that way. How about the others?"

"They're in the next room."

Chuck struggled to his feet, fending off the concerned objections of Sarah and Ellie, and headed over to the doorway. Devon, Morgan and Casey were all waiting on the other side, their faces were a mixture of exhaustion and embarrassment.

"Chuck, you should get back to…" The chiming of the grandfather clock interrupted Sarah's suggestion. After the seventh and final chime had finished, there was a rattling at the door. A moment later, Ryerson walked in.

"Well, it looks like a few of you are still here." He peered at the various people carefully. "And everyone is…themselves?"

"Everybody's fine," Sarah replied.

"And Penelope and the Doctor?"

Casey shook his head. "They didn't make it."

"I see. Well, Mr. Bartowski, Mrs. Woodcomb and Mr. Casey, it looks like the estate will be split amongst the three of you. Congratulations." Chuck thought he sensed a note of irony in the lawyer's voice.

* * *

"Any regrets?"

"None whatsoever," Chuck answered his wife as he took another sip of coffee. As soon as they'd reached a more civilized part of California, they'd stopped for breakfast at the first diner they could find. After a large plate of pancakes, the events of the night before seemed to fade away, if only slightly.

"Not even if Casey throws a housewarming?"

"As much as I'd like to see Casey in domestic mode, I'm going to have to say no."

After the lawyer had arrived, Chuck, Ellie and Casey had met privately to discuss their new inheritance. Since two of the three beneficiaries had no interest in the house, Casey had happily agreed to take over the deed. He had promised making a financial transaction to even out the split, but Chuck hardly cared. While Carmichael Industries could probably use the influx of capital, he wasn't sure he liked the idea of his uncle owning a stake in the company. Especially since he could probably come back from the grave just to attend the board meetings.

Not even Morgan had objected to the idea of abandoning the house, or its financial potential. Morgan had in fact remained unusually quiet the entire morning, partly due to the monster-sized breakfast of waffles, whipped cream, bacon, eggs, pancakes, sausage, hash browns, toast, and apple pie that he was currently scarfing down, and partly due to the fact that nobody wanted to talk to him anyway. He and Ellie had both been quite careful to avoid eye contact when they parted ways.

"I can't say I disagree," Sarah commented. "Not really a place to raise a family, was it?"

Chuck had to admit that he didn't see any kids fitting there, other than those that had died thirty years earlier. Thanks to the new updates to the Intersect, Chuck had learned that James Henry Scott had actually set fire to his house himself in an attempt to get rid of his own parents. He'd also learned that Santello hadn't actually been killed by Al Capone, but rather by an angry bookie. Alicia Le Fanu's death, however, had not surprisingly come at the hands of her jealous husband.

A beeping sound interrupted Chuck's thoughts. "I'm so glad these are working again," Sarah said, as she glanced at her phone. "It's Ellie. They've boarded the plane."

Despite what she'd said, Chuck suspected that Ellie and Devon both remembered some of what had happened to them. Ellie had been avoiding just about everyone that morning, and Devon had seemed unusually unenthusiastic about returning to Chicago, as if he remembered that was where his brain's recent roommate had met his grizzly demise.

"Well, we should probably get going if we want to get back to LA before too long." Chuck dropped some bills onto the table, while Morgan regretfully took a last bite of breakfast. As they headed back to the car, Chuck remembered that he needed to do one thing first. "Hold on," he said as he popped the trunk. "I'll be right back."

* * *

As Chuck retrieved the plastic bag from the trunk, he remembered the last conversation he'd had with Casey, after the big man had briefly ushered him away from the others.

"I need you to do something for me."

"Sure. You mean, in addition to giving you a house?"

"This is serious Bartowski. I need you to take this." Casey handed Chuck a plastic bag.

After peeking inside, "Isn't this Morgan's melted action figure?"

"Yes," Casey replied, not looking at the bag. "I need you to bury this, preferably in consecrated ground."

"Seriously?" Chuck looked at the ex-NSA Agent for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. The thing that scared you so badly that you froze up. That was this thing, wasn't it?"

"Of course not," Casey scoffed unconvincingly. "Why would I… oh, hell. You didn't see it. The way it looked at me, with those dead eyes. You weren't there, all right!"

"Sure, big guy. You can handle terrorists by the boat load, but a six-inch toy, that's what freaks you out." Chuck shrugged. "Sure, I'll do it."

And now, he was standing outside, looking for an appropriate place to bury the burned toy. It wasn't exactly consecrated ground, though the diner's food had been pretty good. Unfortunately, the surrounding land wasn't exactly dig-friendly.

Chuck looked at his watch. They really needed to get going. Seeing no easy place to bury the thing, he decided what Casey didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

He walked over to the dumpster, and slid open the doorway. As he reached over to dump the bag, he took a quick look at its contents.

He could have sworn the action figure was staring right at him.

But that was impossible. All of the ghosts were gone, or at least nothing more than a clutter of ones and zeroes in the Intersect. All he was holding was a bag of melted wax. He reached in the dumpster, and dropped the bag inside.

As he headed back to the car, Chuck thought he felt a cold chill on the back of his spine. A moment later, he shook his head. Probably just the wind.

* * *

_I hope everyone enjoyed this story. It wasn't really a spoof or homage to any one thing, but had pieces of various old movies like "The House on Haunted Hill" (the original William Castle one) and "The Innocents", Chucky movies, and of course "Scooby-Doo."_

_I hope everyone enjoyed it. Please review if you can, and Happy Halloween!_


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